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Day Undone
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Day Undone |
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kayjay Member Elite
since 2002-06-24
Posts 2015Oregon |
(Author's note: I did the following for a poetry post some time ago. It is based on an all time favorite of mine, which follows. Reposted) Day undone (Longfellow parody) The day’s undone by darkness Veiling the night. A feather, shot like an arrow Drops an eagle from his flight. The gloomy lights of villages, Hunkered down amid the mist, Teach me sad and blue notes, While my soul cries out, desist. I cringe from sadness crying; I cannot stand the pain. I wish that I could borrow Some surcease from the rain. Can’t you find some poem To read me whilst I lay My troubled burden down, I’ve got the blues today. No Frost or cummings please, They don’t know how to rhyme. They clump along in meter Or ooze along in slime. I hear their marching sounds, Their meter and foot my test. They thump in rhythmic step. Are they really at their best? Find me some beginning bard With teardrops in his heart, Just as thick as raindrops When hurricanes start. He’s been toiling all his day or maybe has a disease. He’s playing somber music and woeful melodies. The blues don’t need a reason, I’d find some solace there. It’d be a powerful blessing, Perhaps bring back my hair. So read me from your book, Whatever. I’d rejoice. And while your caterwaulin’, Take some whiskey for your voice. Now the dark has harmony That you cannot find in day. It’s like some desert nomad That’ll silently steal away. Day is Done - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village Gleam through the rain and the mist, And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me That my soul cannot resist: A feeling of sadness and longing, That is not akin to pain, And resembles sorrow only As the mist resembles the rain. Come, read to me some poem, Some simple and heartfelt lay, That shall soothe this restless feeling, And banish the thoughts of day. Not from the grand old masters, Not from the bards sublime, Whose distant footsteps echo Through the corridors of Time. For, like strains of martial music, Their mighty thoughts suggest Life's endless toil and endeavor; And to-night I long for rest. Read from some humbler poet, Whose songs gushed from his heart, As showers from the clouds of summer, Or tears from the eyelids start; Who, through long days of labor, And nights devoid of ease, Still heard in his soul the music Of wonderful melodies. Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away. |
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Dr.Moose1 Member Elite
since 1999-09-05
Posts 3448Bewilderment , USA |
kayjay, It's an interesting take on Longfellows' poem. The only critique I would offer would be ( again ) the stressed and un-stressed syllable thing. I reference your line: " find me some beginning bard with teardrops in his heart just as thick as raindrops when hurr_I_canes start" To me, this forces the reader to accent a normally unaccented syllable in order to follow meter, thus interrupting the flow of an otherwise well crafted piece. But, then again, I may just be coming down with a severe case of obsessive/compulsive disorder. Enjoyed the read. Doc |
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kayjay Member Elite
since 2002-06-24
Posts 2015Oregon |
I very much welcome your comments. Thank you. You are correct, some editing could be done there. You might look at Day Begins, if you like, in Open 32, which I wrote for the challenge. Again, thanks for the comment. (Doc is my lifelong family nickname) Through rubble and trouble and dark of night |
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